The first place.

A tall wooden colonial oor. European. No AC. Colorful drapes. High ceilings with chandeliers. Calling to the senses that there was a woman that cared for her touch throughout each of the rooms in the bed and breakfast. She wore eyeliner but with always bright eyeshadow—blue and purple, that called out her energetic personality that energized the extroverts and sucked everything out from the introverts. In every room, delicately placed trinkets—dream catchers, potpourri ceramic pots on lace runners. A dollhouse almost, but we were living in it. But outside, different. Dreary almost. Some men sprawled on mattresses, frozen and sweating in the heat. As girls walked by—especially like us Asian American—they made catcalls. A small whispery “hi” or “hola”. And if they are daring…most of them are…they said, “Cerveza conmigo?” with a wide smile spread across their face. The sidewalks were broken, forgotten by the government. Uninhabited.

The second place.

Better. For the Western. In an area inundated by malls, shops, colectivos. Our friends—3 male guys—arrived suddenly shifting the mood. Different. High ceilings and Europeans. Detailed glass trinkets. With antiques on every shelf from from old style record players (with no needle), books, collected art. AC. I love it. Residents have money. And they travel—been to San Francisco, Miami or NYC, accustomed to seeing foreign faces. A traveler here can get lost within the crowd. Shops ranging from high-end European haute couture to Starbucks dot every street. No uncomfortable glances from men, but only “permiso” from hurried office workers and the regular porteños or sometimes the pushing through “get out of my way”. It’s a thoroughfare of colectivos, taxis and buses. “Upper middle class,” the lawyer said without any apology.